Day Ten: tattoos
Bit of a controversial one this. One person’s joy may well be another person’s tramp stamp. Personally, I’m a big fan. I have always thought of tattoos as little individual pieces of art, pictures telling a story or representing a particular moment in your life. It is possible however to get it VERY WRONG. It would take you a mere thirty second Google to find examples of how not to do it. Tattoos should be well thought out, they should mean something, and more importantly than all that for the love of all that is good and holy they should be spelled correctly. That’s an important one.
Tattooing dates back to prehistoric times, so it stands to reason that my generation can’t be the first to regret getting the name of that cave woman next door inked onto our derrières. People have been screwing each other over since prehistoric times too, so it makes sense that the two most likely co-existed together. Going back only a couple of decades tattoos still had a lot of stigma to fight against, and were reserved mainly for prison farers and old ex-military dudes (think some kind of blurry swallow shape etched in black ink so faded that it had turned a lovely shade of green). Add to that delightful image the high likelihood that said tattoo was administered using a drawing pin and a fountain pen by a herbally medicated guy named Garth and no wonder they had such a bad rap. Nowadays tattoos are considered much more mainstream, so much so in fact that I have kind of come to resent it, in a similar way to hearing that unknown band you’ve followed since day one being played on an episode of Home and Away – kind of proud but mostly a bit sad and kind of queasy.
I love the sound of the tattooists’ needle. That vibrating buzz actually gives me chills, and I often find I can’t walk past without going in for a quick peek. And one is never enough. The second I walked out of the shop after my very first tattoo I knew I’d be back for more and that feeling has never really gone away. I’m currently at eight and I know I’m not done. Whether or not you like tattoos, I’m of the opinion that it’s my body, my skin, my blank canvas and I’ll do what I like with it. That said, if you ever see me with someones name tattooed anywhere on my person you have my complete and total permission to punch me in the throat. Some things are just inexcusable.